Yearning
by QueenCelestiaxyv
Summary: Matthew reflects on his takeover of America.
1. Part One

**Yearning**

**Author: **Queen Celestia

**Betareader: **daedricgurl

**Disclaimer: **Do not own Hetalia nor make any money off of. Nor do I take credit for the poem 'Yearning' by Luisa Lee.

**AN: **Basically I read this poem and this crack one shot came to mind.

xxxxx

_I have increasingly_

_Missed you  
Since you left._

Sometimes he missed Alfred.

It had been years since his proud obnoxious brother had disappeared into the Whitehouse to die.

Well, not exactly die.

More like to curl up in the storage, too emaciated to move, or even do anything.

_Your gentle voice  
That Whispered of love_

_And your warm eyes_

_Which I met with joy_

_Are greatly missed._

It had started when he had bought Alaska, that ring Alfred always forgot to wear, some bauble bought for cheap from Russia, the state that everyone seemed to forget, except now and then, when some loudmouth showed up.

He had seen Alfred in financial crisis, so he had decided to help, and he bought Alaska. A small deal, tidy deal, nothing to rupture their relationship.

The difference was that Matthew always wore the ring, the dark stone swirling with colors. Hold it up to the sun, and you see stars, hold it up to the moon and you see the blood of revolution. The strange Russian characters engraved in the thick silver band worn down, but still visible.

Canada had become progressively more socialist- not communist, not a dictatorship – but socialist.

Would you call Sweden, Norway, and Denmark communist?

No, of course not.

Alfred had laughed at his brother, and boasted that he would never get that way.

Something that Matthew found endearing.

Alfred would never admit it, but he actually had a lot in common with Arthur; the firm belief that invisible forces would make everything ok.

But they hadn't.

He had to keep bailing his country out, the companies with their cruel leaders revealing again and again that they didn't give a shit for the country, only for themselves, only for their yachts and mansions.

The cracked dreams of thousands, Alfreds comments of 'they should work harder, for everything is provided'. Ignoring the others keeping them down, the hatred, the suspicion of anyone with a different culture, skin tone, anything that didn't automatically homogenize.

Matthew couldn't get high and mighty with Alfred for that though, they had both inherited deep seated racism from Arthur, and Francis, something that molded and shaped them.

_I have waited for you _

_More than ever_

_Since I sent you away._

It was only later, when Matthew looked into the eyes of the great Native leaders, witnessed what he had done, did he feel his heart break.

Look into the eyes of Kiku, and realize, that the Japanese he had imprisoned had nothing at all to do with that man, and that he had essentially just harmed himself.

But being brought up with racism was hard to shake, something he tried hard to do, but sometimes, now and then…

His was more subtle, not as loud as Alfred's, not as proud as Alfred's. Not as militant as Alfred's. He wondered why for Alfred's country for anything to change, why it had to get so militant. So angry?

Why change couldn't be made quietly, like a soft summer afternoon.

_I am sad _

_Because you_

_With whom I shared_

_Hardships and loneliness, and_

_Partook in sorrows and pains_

_Are gone._

There were grumblings within the States, something that Matthew paid slight attention to, his mind was more on his firmly established relations with Russia, the road they were building together, to connect all of Russia, a road that would not break so easily.

It was when Alfred declared war upon the entirety of Africa that Matthew took notice. When Alfred informed Matthew that all of Africa was evil and needed to be rescued, and when he tried to pressure Matthew to actually believe that bullshit, Matthew took notice.

Alfred got insanely angry when Matthew quietly took his glasses off, cleaned them, placed them back on, the reflection hiding the violet of his eyes and simply stated that 'No, he would not go into the war against Africa'.

Alfred had adjusted his jacket, stormed off, and invaded Africa, not realizing that all his good intentions were the manipulations of the rich men who did not care.

Feeding their country the dreams of heroism, of actually doing something right for a change, but just letting him fall flat on his face.

Americans flocked to the border, wanting in, begging to be let in, not wanting to be part of another useless war, and Matthew, at first reticent, knew that when the conscription act came into play, that he would let them in.

_Time passes away.  
Love is gone, and  
Only yearning remains as if to protect me._

And when Alfred went completely bankrupt yet again, the invisible forces for some reason, still not working, Matthew ended up buying Washington and Oregon.

The people were getting wary, worried about an aggressive Canadian takeover.

Matthew realized what a headache the Americans were, and wondered why he even thought it was a good idea to even buy any of it.

He was thankful when those proud Americans moved out, down, away.

The prairie states got bought in one fell swoop, while other states fell away.

He was doing it trying to save his deranged brother, who was losing weight rapidly, and whose hamburgers seemed to be turning grey, dripping grease and fat, all over his bomber jacket. He didn't even notice.

Texas was the last state holding out, other than Washington D.C.

Matthew felt a slight wave of relief, when they declared themselves their own country, not wanting to be part of 'commie Canada'.

He was too tired to even bother to explain the difference between Communism and Socialism.

Better to leave them by themselves.

Washington D.C., the last remaining state, looked at the lack of country, and gave up. The president acceding to the prime minister, the United States finally completely gone.

A mere memory, one where strict capitalism without compassion failed.

Where the broken dreams littered the ground like so many cigarette butts blowing in the wind.

_In spring as flowers and leaves,  
In fall as colored and fallen leaves,  
In winter as snow and rain,_

_You come to see me  
And I welcome you  
Who is coming as a yearning._

Now and then, when he had time, he would go to the old White House – he had kept it, allowed the Americans to keep their history, incorporating it into the Canadian canon. The Canadian canon being forced out of the vaults, out of the mouths of quietly forgetful Canadians, where the heroes like Terry Fox, Lester B. Pearson, Louis Riel, and Trudeau suddenly took on massive proportions of heroism.

And while others, were more quietly forgotten.

He would enter the storage, and look for his brother, although as of late it had been getting harder and harder to find him.

Until one day, he found his brother, sitting in a chair, so heart breakingly thin and still that Matthew seriously thought that he had finally died.

But a smile was there, before Alfred, his eyes twinkling said.

"Good job brother. I'll make sure to haunt you when I'm fully gone."

"No, don't say that, I only wanted to save you." Came the desperate whisper, a calloused hand brushing his brother's hair away from his forehead, looking into clear blue eyes the glasses long ago gone.

Alfred had only smiled, before closing his eyes, and fully disappearing.

_Yet, I have increasingly  
Missed you_

_Since you left._


	2. Part Two

Yearning

**Part Two**

**Author: **Queen Celestia

**Betareader:** daedricgurl

**Disclaimer: **Do not own Hetalia nor make any money off of. AND I used another Luisa Lee poem 'Wild Flowers'

**AN: **I had lunch and realized there needed to be a very short part two. But then I got carried away. Part one can be stand alone, you don't need to read part two at all. I might reuse Wild Flowers for something else, since it actually originally reminded me of Matthew more.

xxxxx

_No one_

_Awaits or invites you,_

_And yet_

_You gently come in making no sound_

_And quietly disappear in the wind._

He asked Gilbert why he didn't disappear like Alfred. Gilbert had replied that Alfred wasn't as 'awesome' as he was, so he obviously would have to disappear.

At world meetings, it was strange to have people look at him expectantly as if he would get up there and run the thing.

Like Alfred.

Spout out some stupid idea on how to run the world, or make a jab at another country for having a different belief system than him.

Except… People were forgetting Alfred.

There had been the one day when Arthur briefly inquired, but when he could only give a vague answer as to his brothers' whereabouts, the older nation seemed to lose interest.

_No one looks at or touches you,_

_And yet you are, with your whole heart,_

_Open to the full, and sway in the wind._

It was strange to have eyes pass over him, and pause, actually take notice.

He wasn't loud and brash like Alfred was, didn't have the insane hero complex that involved bombing and forcing ideas.

Although to be fair; Matthew had become sort of a hero again. After beefing up his military, he sent it out to countries that needed some help. Help for fresh water, help for building, help after natural disasters.

Silently reclaiming the title of Peace Keeper from Norway.

And having silent wars with Russia over the arctic.

_In amity,_

_Whispering to each other,_

_You open up and fall in variegated colors.  
There is no fear of loneliness in your figure,_

_Even though you stand alone._

A strange sensation to deal with the country of Texas, to look at the small child that looked like Alfred but know that he wasn't. He was too much of a cowboy; one who didn't wear glasses.

It had been years since anyone had even mentioned Alfred, never mind the USA.

The Texans liked to keep the memory alive, wave their flag about proudly but even they had become oddly quiet: more focused on the 'Mexican Threat' than focusing on dead empires.

So when he went to try a peaceful negotiation with Texas, Matthew was startled to see that the boy had grown up more, to see his hair splayed out like Alfred's. The same cocky nature.

To see the hand held out, and the introduction, a name that slipped into fuzzy memory, because all he could think about was Alfred, and Alfred's promise.

"_I'll make sure to haunt you when I'm fully gone."_

The boy wore his flag like a cape, and said that he would never ever become part of Canada, so if that was part of the plan, to give up now.

Matthew had simply smiled, and replied, 'No, that wasn't the plan. Just wanted to see if they could strike up a cattle trade.'

The boy was young, strong, and stubborn as hell.

Matthew half expected to see Tony hanging around the boy, but instead found the boy had a small cow he liked to drag around. Protectively guarding it as if expecting Kumajijiko to eat it.

Trying to soften relations, he had suggested watching a movie. Something the young man – well to be honest he was still rather young. His age looking to be ten or eleven at most – accepted with suspicion.

The movie produced was horror, something that took Matthew by surprise.

He expected a Western, but even that, the traditional American Gun Slinging Western, had become part of Canadian history.

He spent most of his time watching the boy. How the boy became increasingly scared, until, small hands were clutched around his bicep, snuggling closer, shivering and squeaking in fright. And then crying in absolute fear when the monster popped out, rows upon rows of teeth gaping.

A soft spot for the boy, a ruffle of the hair.

There was a desire to keep this tiny country all to himself and not let anyone else see the seeming reincarnation of the man that they had forgot.

_After living in gratitude_

_Proudly and to the full,_

_As the joy of the sender_

_And the love of the giver_

There were days when the boy wanted stories.

Stories about the United States, about the country past that he had been from.

Matthew told stories, carefully, but truthfully. Letting the boy know why the country had failed. He tried not to mention Alfred.

Except there came a day when the boys blue eyes looked up at him, and his soft mouth opened into the question.

"Was there someone like us for that country? What were they like?"

Matthew could only keep a straight face, before saying that the mans name was Alfred, and that he was blond like them, and that Alfred loved hamburgers.

The boy's eyes had widened in excitement, something to relate to!

The more Matthew told, the more excited the boy seemed to become, before blurting out whether or not Alfred had been his father.

A pause, before, "In a way, I guess?"

"Then would you be the mother? Taking care of me?"

A laugh, before, "In a way."

The boy grinned, before saying.

"I'm going to take care of you too someday, when you're old and decrepit. Like Uncle Arthur is."

A snort of laughter, "I don't think Arthur would like being called decrepit."

_No one makes you stay_

_Or sees you off_

_And yet_

The boys moods changed fast however, and he was often found staring at the sky silently as if remembering. What, he never told, but Matthew suspected.

Until one day, there came the question, "Why doesn't anyone else visit me?"

A hemming, a hawing, a moment of embarrassment, before a reply,

"Because no one really cares about you."

"People visit Latvia, why not me?"

Trying to hide the small smile that the boy would even know the place.

"I don't know."

He tried to stop the guilt that it was because he had never once recognized the boy officially as his own nation in front of all the others. He never once invited the boy to any world meetings, despite the pleadings and the aggressiveness.

It was the selfish desire to keep the boy all to himself.

_Like the day you came,_

_With no word,_

_With no promise,_

_You leave, dropping your head._


End file.
